


Possessively, Obsessively

by HoopyFrood



Series: Possibilities [2]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Minor Character Death, Psychopaths In Love, Rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 23:14:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8597590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoopyFrood/pseuds/HoopyFrood
Summary: Rule #1 of Gotham's criminal underworld: never, ever take anything that belongs to the Penguin.





	

Ed has really fucked up this time; he can admit that much at least. _Apparently_ a sure fire way to get yourself into hot water with an influential and incredibly dangerous mob boss isn’t to screw them over, oh no, but to just really, really irritate them instead. Who knew? He braces himself as another vicious kick lands squarely in his stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

“All out of riddles?” The brute of a man smirks down at him. Ed looks him over; bulbous balding head, ear missing a rather sizeable chunk, and a hilariously misspelt tattoo scrawled across his forearm just peeking out from beneath a rolled up sleeve. The man is a cliché in the worst possible way.

Ed bites down on his tongue. He really, really shouldn’t.

“What is harder to catch the-” Unsurprisingly, he’s interrupted halfway through with a punch to the face. His head snaps back from the sheer force of it and his vision briefly darkens, hair slipping out of its usual slicked back style to dangle in front of his eyes. He spits a mouthful of blood and what looks suspiciously like part of a tooth onto the floor, watching as it bounces away. Okay, he definitely deserved that. Blood gushes from his nose, staining his lips a gruesome red, and he grins widely up at him. Worth it, though.

“Freak,” the man hisses and turns to a colleague behind him. “When is the boss getting here?” 

There are six of them in total, all utterly interchangeable, of course, standing in a neat semi-circle so they can jump in quickly to help their friend if Ed _somehow_ gets the upper hand. Which is equal parts incredibly flattering and hilariously unlikely as there really isn’t much he can do about them with both hands bound tightly behind his back with scotch tape.

“Oh, not for a while I should think,” a voice answers from the darkness instead, the teasing melodic lilt echoing throughout the warehouse pleasantly. Oswald steps into view, emerging out from the shadows like a spectre, with blood splattered artfully across his face. Every gun trains on him in the blink of an eye and he holds up his hands in surrender.

“Now, now, there’s no need for that,” he says with a small laugh. “I’ve just come to collect something that belongs to me.”

Suddenly, the man furthest from Ed drops like a stone, his body crumpling as if he was a puppet whose strings had been cut. Then another. And another. Ed looks up at the walkway hanging from the roof, then past to the rafters above it, squinting his eyes against the dark. There must be a sniper somewhere up there. A friend of Zsasz, perhaps. Zsasz knows all the best snipers. The remaining men whip around, spinning in circles, oblivious to where the shots are coming from, their guns raised in confusion. It’s almost embarrassing how easily they’re methodically picked off one by one until only Ed’s captor remains.

“Now then, friend,” Oswald says amicably. “Let’s talk.”

Oswald shoots both of his knee caps in quick succession, each one exploding with blood and bone and cartilage. He immediately drops to the ground with a piercing scream that makes Ed shudder in excitement. Oswald steps close until he’s hovering over the whimpering, blubbering form and crunches down on the man’s fingers with the heel of his oxfords.

“Taking him was your first mistake,” he says conversationally, forcing his heel down further until he _feels_ the splintering of bone through the leather. “Your second was thinking I wouldn’t come for him.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he begs, eyes and nose streaming. “I was just doing my job. Please, don’t do this.”

Ed _aches_ at the sight of his Oswald doing what he does best. Making men far stronger, far bigger than him cower at his feet, with the moonlight streaming in from the broken windows and spotlighting him as he plays the part he was born for.

“Luckily for you, however,” he says happily and jams the barrel of his gun into the man’s mouth as it opens on a sob, forcefully pushing it past his teeth until it hits the back of his throat and he’s gagging on it. “You won’t have the chance to make any more.”

He pulls the trigger and the back of his head blows out like a burst pipe, spray painting the floor beneath him. Oswald pumps him full of bullets, the man’s body jerking around in a morbid dance against the floor. He continues to click through the magazine even once it’s empty, his chest heaving; deep, deep breaths wracking his slight frame. Eventually he lets the gun clatter to the floor and hobbles to over to where Ed is hunched. 

Dropping to the floor in front of him, he pulls off his gloves and discards them without a second thought. 

“Oh, my dear, Ed,” he coos. His fingertips flutter over Ed’s face like butterfly wings, fearing to touch the bruised skin beneath them but too desperate not to.

“Be careful where you’re kneeling,” Ed replies thickly through a split lip and throbbing gums.

Oswald briefly looks down at the blood, Ed’s blood, staining the floor and slowly soaking its way through the pressed fabric of his suit pants. He clenches his jaw in anger, the muscle visibly pulling taught under his pale skin.

“I don’t care about the pants,” he rages.

Ed laughs weakly and shifts forward so his forehead is touching Oswald’s. The smell of his cologne mingles with the tang of blood and gun smoke heavy in the air and he greedily inhales, feeling himself relax.

“Not your, admittedly, very lovely Tom Fords, you silly bird,” he says fondly. “Your bad knee.”

Oswald’s eyes go fractionally wider and a brief huff of a laugh escapes in disbelief from between his lips.

“Kidnapped, beaten, and yet still worrying about me,” he marvels and shakes his head in wonder. “What on Earth did I ever do to deserve you?”

“Continue to leave me in utter awe of you every single day.”

Oswald bashfully looks away, cheeks pinking ever so slightly, and purses his lips to smother the pleased smile threatening to spill out across his face. Ed is charmed by the sight.

“If you wouldn’t mind, the lack of feeling in my hands is starting to worry me a tad,” he shares, disappointed to have to break the spell. This naturally jerks Oswald into immediate movement.

“Of course, how silly of me,” he berates, shuffling behind Ed. “This may sting,” he says before slipping a nail under the seam of tape and gradually beginning to peel it away. It takes longer than he would like, the tape having fused together tightly, but he soon feels the cool night air touch his exposed wrists. Oswald soothes the raw skin, thumb rubbing along the irritated welts, before gently replacing it with the press of his lips. Ed smiles, his heart speeding momentarily up in delight.

Finally free, he pulls his arms back in front and groans in relief, rotating his hands at the wrists as feeling begins to rush back through his fingers.

“Are you able to walk?” Oswald asks in concern, eyes flicking all over Ed as he chews down onto his bottom lip, teeth sinking deep into the plump flesh.

“Let’s see shall we?” He takes a few deep breaths to prepare before slowly pulling himself to his feet. Oswald hovers close by, his hands ready to catch and steady him if he stumbles. There’s a sharp twinge in his abdomen, a cracked rib perhaps, and his legs are slightly shaky, nerves jumping at the sudden strain. It’s not too bad, considering. He straightens up as much as he can until he has to look back down at Oswald from his usual height.

“Let’s go home,” he says warmly, cupping Oswald’s cheek.

Oswald lets his eyes slide closed and leans into the touch. “I would love nothing more.”

Oswald slips an arm round his waist and they slowly make their way out of the warehouse, discarded bodies lining their path and showing them the way through the dark.


End file.
